


Distraction

by venvephe



Series: The Snowglobe Series [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mile High Club, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Distraction is the best technique, if you’re still nervous,” Harry says, “It’s just a matter of…”</p>
<p>He trails off, probably because of the look Eggsy’s giving him. Because yeah, a distraction sounds like a <i>great</i> idea, and Eggsy’s already got one in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jakathine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/gifts).



> Once upon a time, I was taking prompts right before flying home on an airplane - and the lovely Jakathine prompted me with something along the lines of _plane sex_ , because it happened to be so delightfully relevant to what I was doing - and unfortunately, tumblr messed up (and I messed up) and I lost half of it. The smutty half of it. I was so enraged that it has taken me until now to come back to it and finish it up.
> 
> Sorry it took so long, darling Jakathine! I hope what I did end up writing is enjoyable despite the unfortunate mishap that occurred when I first wrote this! And thank you so much for sending along the part that was recoverable.
> 
> The quote in the beginning I found while trying to come up with a better title than _Distractions_ , which is the title I used when I first posted it; turns out it's a good title, and the quote is quite apt - and dare I say a little meta, which pleases me. But I'll stop nattering on; I hope you enjoy!

 

 

_Nothing like other folks' sin for distraction._ \- _Paradise_ , Toni Morrison.

 

Eggsy had never been on a plane before becoming a Kingsman - never thought he would be, especially not one as nice as this. The Kingsman private jet is all warm, supple leather, plush carpets, stained wood - it has a  _mini-bar_ , for fuck’s sake. And  _oh_ , the armory. Harry had quipped something about traveling in style as the three of them had boarded the plane, and damn. The Kingsmen sure knew how to do it.

But it’s still something new; he’s had a lot of firsts with the Kingsman, and this was one of them. When they had flown off to stop Valentine - well, it must have been the adrenaline, the coiled rage in his chest about Harry’s death that had prevented him from feeling this - this illogical nervousness. He can’t stop fidgeting, playing with the smooth metal of the cufflinks at his wrists - careful not to press the hidden latch that releases corrosive acid, but fidgeting nonetheless. He know it's nervous energy, but can't seem to stop.

He sincerely hopes Merlin was joking about the acid, but he doesn't want to risk it.

Harry comes and sits next to him, placing a filled tumbler on the little table in front of them. The amber liquid glitters in the cut glass, sunlight streaming in from outside through the little windows; the natural light doesn't make it feel _any less_ like he's in a giant metal tube. Eggsy shuts the shade curtain on the window, willing his gut to stay where it is as it roils uncomfortably.

“Drink,” Harry says, nodding to Eggsy’s glass as he sips from his own. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

”’ ‘m not scared,” Eggsy’s brow furrows, but he reaches for the glass. “I’m just not used to air travel, is all.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Harry nods, “but it is not without its perks. Much faster for getting anywhere, even just over the Channel. It’s the flying, not the mission, you’re concerned about?”

Eggsy snorts, refraining from rolling his eyes because yeah, he’s nervous enough as it is, he don't need the extra motion - and they haven’t even taken off. “Once we’re on the ground? Whatever comes at us ain't gonna be a problem.”

“I assure you, Merlin is a very good pilot.”

“That I am,” Merlin’s voice comes through the plane intercom, clear and faintly amused. The microphone picks up the faint sound of him flipping switches and pressing buttons as he speaks. “Time to buckle in, gents; we’re off for Hong Kong.”

Eggsy downs his scotch in one gulp, and does up his buckle as the engines roar to life.

 

So it’s not so bad once they’re in the air - and Eggsy has another drink in him.

“You say that,” Harry quirks a little smile, “but you’re gripping that arm-rest for dear life.”

He pats Eggsy’s hand; Eggsy has to think about relaxing it from the claw-like grip he’s got on the leather. His fingers have left impressions, little half-moon circles from his nails, but Harry hums, satisfied.

“The scotch is helping,” Eggsy says, looking up at Harry earnestly. “Really. Yeah.”

Harry shakes his head, amused. “You really shouldn't have any more, though - we've got a long flight ahead of us, and it gets no better when one is hungover.”

“Speaking from experience?” Eggsy smirks, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Distraction is the best technique, if you’re still nervous,” Harry says, rubbing at the condensation that's gathered on his own glass. “It’s just a matter of…”

He trails off, probably because of the look Eggsy’s giving him. Because yeah, a distraction sounds like a _great_ idea, and Eggsy’s already got one in mind.

Eggsy licks his lips and Harry’s gaze flicks down to them, just for a moment, and - yes, this is a  _perfect_  distraction. The plane has settled out, now that they've reached a cruising altitude, and Eggsy’s only a little unsteady because of the scotch he’d downed when he reaches over and folds the table to the side, unbuckles his seatbelt with a quick flick of his fingers and then slides, in one motion, to the floor at Harry’s knees.

“Just a matter of what, Harry?” he asks, and places his hands on Harry’s thighs, squeezing gently. Harry visibly swallows.

“Eggsy,” he begins, but can’t continue the sentence for a sharp inhale that he makes - and that’s flattering, really, because all Eggsy has done is inch his fingers upwards, until this thumbs are achingly close to the flies of Harry’s bespoke trousers. He looks up at Harry, blinking slowly, drunk on confidence and good scotch and the heat in Harry’s darkening eyes - and he keeps Harry’s gaze as he leans inwards and nuzzles Harry’s cloth-covered cock.

Just the sight of Eggsy on his knees must be doing something for Harry because his cock's half-hard and hardening under Eggsy’s cheek, the pinstripe of his trousers distending as the bulge grows. Eggsy breathes in, presses his nose against it, trying to drink in the smell of Harry through two layers of cloth. He gets clean, fresh cotton, the faint warm sandalwood of Harry’s cologne from his wrists, the bite of scotch - and underneath it all, the musky skin-scent of Harry. The scent of him isn't enough.

Eggsy opens his mouth, unable to help himself from running his parted lips along Harry’s clothed length, heat radiating from it as it fills hot and thick. Harry makes a strangled noise above him and clenches his hands in the plush leather of the arm-rests - Eggsy smirks, because isn't _that_  a funny reversal of roles - and drags his nose up, up to where Harry’s shirt tucks into his trousers, and smooths his hands inward to get at Harry’s flies.

He’s gentle in tugging down the zipper, careful not to catch the cloth or Harry’s prick, and Harry’s muscles jump as Eggsy parts the placket and his knuckles brush against the soft skin of Harry's stomach. Eggsy’s mouth waters; he licks his lips, again, and doesn't hesitate at darting in to lick at the dark spot of precome dampening Harry’s pants. Harry’s muffled groan is a reward in his ears, and Eggsy feels his face flush warm at the sound.

The salty tang isn't enough, and the liquor makes him bold as he splays his fingers in Harry’s pants and peels them down enough to hook under Harry’s balls, letting his cock bob free against the taut plane of his belly. It’s gorgeous, pink with the head exposed and glossy-wet, hard and blood-hot. The vein on the underside throbs with Harry's raised pulse, the tip oozing precome as Eggsy drinks the sight of it in. Eggsy needs it in his mouth  _yesterday_.

“Eggsy,” Harry hisses, and Eggsy looks up through his eyelashes as he tugs Harry’s hand off the arm-rest to cradle the back of his skull, leaning in to lick a stripe up Harry’s cock without preamble.

Harry's mouth falls open and he tries not to buck; it’s clear from the restrained arch of his back and the twitch of his hips, but Eggsy doesn’t give him a chance to process this first touch of his tongue. He dives back in, kissing open-mouthed and licking at the crown and the sensitive underside, which makes Harry moan low in his throat. Eggsy smirks, swallowing as his mouth fills again, and finally takes what he wants.

The scotch had burned on the way down, at first, but now it makes his throat warm and tongue buzzing, mouth sloppy as he stretches his lips wide and goes down on Harry’s cock, sliding it into his mouth as far as he can go - which is far, when he’s single-minded about cocksucking. The gentle scratch of curls against his nose is a victory, as is the rock of Harry’s hips as his control trembles under the attentions of Eggsy’s tongue. He wriggles it as he sucks, cheeks hollowing, drawing away only to swallow Harry down again. _Hell yes_ , he’s good at this - and the weight of Harry on his tongue and the sounds he makes, _Christ_ , are more than enough to get Eggsy straining at his own trousers.

There’s an obscenely wet  _pop_  as he draws off Harry’s cock for a breath, smirking, aware that his lips are spit-shiny and red. Sweat’s beading at Harry’s forehead and he’s flushed, and it’s stupidly hot that he’s still all buttoned up, cuffs and collar and tie, with his prick out and gleaming and throbbing against Eggsy’s closed lips in time with his heartbeat. There's still an air of _restrained proper gentleman_ about him, despite the hard jut of his cock exposed to the air, despite the wanton glances at Eggsy's mouth. Eggsy's cock twitches in its confines at the sight of him.

Eggsy runs his lips back and forth across the plush head of Harry’s cock, grinning as Harry’s fingers flex in his hair, and Harry visibly swallows. The way Harry keeps making restrained sounds in his throat, the way he _definitely_ keeps staring at Eggsy’s lips - it makes Eggsy want to shred the rest of Harry’s iron control.

He wraps one hand around the base of Harry’s cock to guide it back into his mouth, to keep it steady as he starts up a rhythm in and out - and he worms the other down the length of his own body, grinding the heel of his hand into his aching cock. He can’t feel his knees and his jaw is beginning to ache, but it’s all background noise to the taste of Harry, the precome coating his tongue, the thin edge of pleasure-pain as Harry tugs at his hair.

“Eggsy, your-  _fuck_ ,” Harry moans, voice ragged and deep, and Eggsy pushes down, grinning around the length of Harry’s cock, until his glasses smudge against Harry’s skin. He closes his eyes, savoring the sensations, focusing on the sweat prickling his nape and the friction of his hand on his clothed cock in junction with the one in his mouth, thick and dripping. Heat sings down his spine and settles in his balls at a fresh trickle of precome in his mouth and he blinks up at Harry, who can’t look away from where his cock is sliding into the circle of Eggsy’s lips.

Eggsy slows, gently grazes his teeth on the next pass down and whines in his throat when Harry’s hips jolt and he gasps, cock twitching in Eggsy's mouth and thickening impossibly more and - and _yeah_ , that’s it, he can feel it coming, can feel the way Harry’s back is winding spring-tight and his balls draw up as he trembles towards orgasm.

He sucks, increases his tempo and on the third thrust downward swallows just as the head of Harry’s cock nudges at the soft back of his throat, and that’s it.

Harry comes with a muffled shout that’s - well, really _not muffled_ for the inside of a small aeroplane, and his fingers knot in Eggsy’s hair as he rides it out. His hips snap forward, pistoning his cock in and Eggsy lets him, gets the button of his own trousers open so he can shove a hand into his pants and bring himself off as Harry’s come crosses his tongue. He swallows it down, tongues the vein on the underside of Harry’s cock until Harry’s writhing away, over-sensitive and sucked clean. The taste of him lingers on Eggsy's tongue even as he shivers and licks his lips, his hand a blur on his cock.

Eggsy strokes himself roughly, fucking into the tight circle of his fist until he comes with a groan, spilling into his hand and then collapses, face-first, into Harry’s lap - into the sticky surface of Harry’s softening cock.

They sit there, panting, as Eggsy’s brain restarts and he starts feeling his bones again, and Harry loosens his grip in Eggsy’s hair, smoothing it down in comforting petting motions as their breathing returns to normal. Eggsy can  _really_ feel the soreness in his knees, now - the plush carpet underneath them had done little for them for the time he'd spent on them - and there's a twinge in his jaw that's going to remind him of what he did for the rest of the flight. _Perfect.  
_

For his part, Harry's quite a mess, too - his hair is falling into his face, glasses just this side of steamed because of the heated flush on his face, and he's untucked from his trousers - which he's half-sitting on, though his seatbelt is still done up. It's a picture Eggsy hopes to see again as soon as he can.

There’s a pointed silence coming from the cockpit, and after a few moments the rest of the world begins to return - the deep rumble of the engines, the press of pressure against the inside of his ears that reminds Eggsy they’re in the air. And, also, that there's _no way_ Merlin didn't know what had just happened in the back of his aeroplane. Eggsy's pretty sure he and Harry are in for some kind of talking-to, and he cracks a grin. Somehow, now, flying's not too bad.

“Well,” Eggsy finally says - and oh, his voice is deliciously roughened from blowing Harry, there’s no mistaking the husk in his voice for anything but the result of giving  _fantastic_  head - and he smiles up at Harry. “I know what I’d like to do to distract myself the rest of the time we’re on this fucking aeroplane.”

“What aeroplane?” Harry asks faintly, arching an eyebrow down at Eggsy. 

Eggsy laughs, delighted, until Harry draws him up for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, join me in Hartwin trash hell and follow me on [tumblr](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)!


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